“You were sent to relations in London.”
“Yes. My mother’s family. I went to several different places, but eventually found a home with a distant cousin. He was an old gentleman who had a large family – another boy, another son, was no trouble to him. But they wanted nothing to do with my father’s disgrace.” Jocelyn looked down at his hands. “They can scarcely be blamed for feeling that way.”
“So these people gave you a new identity.”
“That is correct. Since there were so many children, it was actually not very difficult to pass me off as a country cousin called Jocelyn Avebury. No one knew one of us from the other anyway.”
“Was there any outright fraud?”
“As in money? Papers?” Jocelyn laughed. “You really are a solicitor, Mr Beaseley, if such things concern you more than fraud of the spirit! No, no, do not try to deny it. I will tell you what I know: as far as I can tell, there was no forgery. No fabricated baptismal certificates or such like. I believe that the old gentleman asked a favour of a friend in the Admiralty who took his word that I was an orphaned country cousin. My real name is John Randall, but I have never gone by it since I came to London. It feels like the name of a stranger now, but it is mine. If you check the register of a certain parish in Yorkshire, you will find me.”
“You will pardon me for saying that all of this is a tempest in a teacup.”
Jocelyn lifted his hands helplessly in a shrug. “You might say so. But here I am.”
Beaseley was gazing up toward the windows. “Someone,” he mused, “has changed his plans. We need to know who has done so, and why. Captain Avebury,” he said, suddenly turning his gaze on him, “have you any enemies? Those who envy your advancement, your fortune?”
Jocelyn shook his head. “None,” he said. “Lieutenant Bright was an impressive officer, and would have gone far. I thought highly of him, and was very much shocked when he made accusations against me. And the brawl … I arrived too late to save him but, had I been there from the beginning, I would have prevented it, I am sure. My men were extremely loyal. Not a malcontent amongst them. Their reaction to Bright’s treachery was too swift.”
“Others? Not on your ship?”
“No – no, I cannot think of anyone who would wish me so ill as to—”
He suddenly remembered. It seemed to be an irrelevant detail, but he could not shake the feeling that it was somehow pertinent. Beaseley saw the change in his expression.
“Well?” he pressed.
“There is one person – not an enemy, you understand. But we had an encounter that might be considered unfortunate—”
“Out with it, my boy. Speak!”
“Roland. A lieutenant aboard the Majestic.”
“I recall hearing about Roland. Viscount Roland, I believe? You saved him from some trouble with natives in Bombay. You were then late to a rendezvous.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn said, grimacing. “That is where the trouble began.”
“And why would Lord Roland wish you ill?”
“I don’t know. He lost a finger in the fight – the fight in the brothel where I found him.”
Beaseley snorted. “Surely he cannot regret the loss of a finger when he might have lost his life!”
Jocelyn got the words out with difficulty. “Lord Roland is the younger half-brother of Sir Lyle Barrington. Sir Lyle has vast shipping interests – trade interests. He thanked me personally, in fact, for saving his brother. I thought it was odd at the time – I did not really understand what he was thanking me for.”
“I am a little acquainted with Sir Lyle,” Beaseley cut in. “Any relation of his is likely to get up to no good, I imagine. Lord Roland, in particular. He is someone who does not belong in service to the Crown, I can assure you. His mother must have gone to some expense to secure his position. But tell me, Captain Avebury. Why on earth did you risk your assignment by going to find him?”
“I could not let him die,” Jocelyn said simply. “And I knew that he would. There was no way that he would be allowed to leave. If I may speak rather indelicately, sir, he was smoking opium and had made himself rather unpopular with the – the ladies. The men of the district were prepared to kill him. I did not want to see a uniform belonging to His Majesty swinging in the wind. His own captain was reluctant to go after him. He did not speak the native tongue, which I do. And I was his captain’s senior. I was not going to send men into a situation where I was not prepared to go myself. So I went.”
Beaseley rose from his seat. “There is something very strange about this story, Captain Avebury. And I mean to find out what.”
“Lord Roland is serving aboard the Surrey, I believe.”
“No, I do not think so. The Surrey has been moored at the Nore for repairs since last November. He is probably in London. And I will find him.”
Jocelyn rose. “Mr Beaseley, I appreciate your assistance. Can you – can you tell me why I am here? Am I awaiting trial? Am I truly under arrest?”
“The ways of the military are very strange to me, Captain Avebury. I tell you, I do not know their justification for keeping you locked in this room. But I will demand answers, and return with them. That I promise you. You are to leave everything in my hands, and do not under any circumstances execute any ridiculous plans of your own devising! Is that clear?”
“Very clear,” Jocelyn said. “Thank you. And, Mr Beaseley – have you heard from Kate – Lady St Clair?” His heart pounded. When I get out of here, I am going to find her. Even if she will not come with me, I want to see my son. He will bear the name of Avebury, by God! He deserves to at least once see my face, the face of a man who remade his past.
Beaseley slowed his steps. He turned from the door. “No,” he said quietly. “I have not. I am sure she will need my services soon. But I have not heard anything.”
“Will you tell me when you do? And – and tell me if there is something, anything—”
“Absolutely.” Beaseley turned back to the door. He rapped on it, and it was opened immediately from the other side. “Good day, Captain Avebury.”
The door shut behind him.
Oh, Christ Almighty! He might be free, truly free. If it were really true that the Admiralty had known, had forgiven him long ago … if it were really true that they were going to give him a ship to Spain ….
But if it were really true, what was he doing in this damned room?
Kate, my love.
He hoped that Beaseley could work quickly.
Chapter 39
She had never seen such high mountains in her life. They took her breath away. They terrified her. But she had little time to gape, to forget the damp snowflakes swirling about her, for the coachman and Welsh gardener’s boy were standing awaiting her instructions.
She finally found her voice. “I know the castle is not as empty as it appears, there have always been custodians. I wrote to them in the autumn saying I intended to take up residence eventually.” Her voice trailed off as she realised that she had never had a reply. She had thought nothing of it, but she knew now that she ought to have taken the lack of response as a warning.
The St Clairs were not welcome.
Catherine turned to the coachman. “Ride into the village and trouble the keeper of the nearest inn for advice. Tell him that I will pay him handsomely if he has a servant he can lend us. And I will compensate the servant well. We also need provisions. To see us through to tomorrow, at least.”
“My lady,” the coachman replied, “might I take Thomas with me? They might receive him better – with him being Welsh.”
“Go ahead. But return quickly. Lydia, we have to find shelter. We will all spend the night in whatever room is most easily and quickly heated.” Catherine made a move to descend from the coach, and winced as her aching back reminded her that she had not changed position for several hours. Once Lydia had helped her down, she stood, hand pressed against the small of her back, marvelling at the great stone hulk that stood before her.
/> That, she thought, was what the St Clair earls had left her. That, and the hatred of the local folk.
What on earth could they possibly have done to make themselves so unpopular? She did not really want to find out. But she was here, and she had no choice but to manage. She could die, or she could save her son.
The hall appeared to be clean and in excellent condition. It would be hard to heat, however, and Catherine pressed on into the depths of the castle, trying to block the image of the ruined towers above her from her mind. The other rooms on the ground floor were cold and damp. Were any of the upstairs rooms habitable? She shook herself. Right now, all she needed was a single room, no matter where it was.
A suite of rooms off the kitchen seemed intact. There was firewood aplenty, mattresses with clean ticking, and a neatly folded pile of bedding suggesting the custodians might have lived in them. Lydia sniffed cautiously at the sheets before deeming them acceptable for use.
She made Catherine sit. “You are not going to be of any use if you swoon,” she said firmly.
Catherine sat. She looked at the neglected furniture, the feeble beginnings of a smoky fire, and thought about the useless contents of her trunk. She said suddenly, her voice thickening, “Lydia, I am a fool.”
There was only the slightest trace of hesitation in Lydia’s movements. She continued to bustle about the room.
“I never should have come.”
“We do what we must.”
“This is all because I am a fool.” Catherine’s voice rose until it cracked painfully. “Oh, Lydia. I have been so stupid! I have done so many things of which I am ashamed. I need to set my life in order but I hardly know where to begin. And now I have risked myself, my child, any decent future, all because … because …”
She could not finish. She buried her head in her hands. For a moment, all was silent but for the crackling of the fire.
“I should have told Jocelyn the truth about LaFrance and the portrait. He might have forgiven me.”
“Captain Avebury is bedevilled by his own past, my lady. You were not alone in practising deception.”
“You did tell me to be honest,” Catherine whispered. “I should have listened. Instead, I was stubborn. I was stupid. That is the real reason I am in this unhappy state. Not my father, not the world. It is I who manage to complicate my own life, every time.”
Lydia came and knelt beside her. She took her hand. “My lady. Forgive me. I wish to be honest with you.” There was a long hesitation. She squeezed Catherine’s hand for a moment, then looked up at her. “I know better than anyone what it is like to be born in disgrace. No, no – do not stop me. Your kind words cannot erase the fact that I was unwanted. My own mother would have nothing to do with me. And having a duke for a father was certainly not an advantage for me.” Her voice grew bitter. “I was the consequence of a moment of reckless passion.”
Catherine looked at her mutely. “At least you were conceived in passion,” she said.
The two women looked at each other for a long moment. Suddenly, they began to laugh. They wept and laughed, holding on to each other, until they were exhausted.
“Only you could turn my bitter past into something worthy of laughter,” Lydia gasped, wiping her eyes. “My lady, I do have something to say. You have done what you think best for your child. We all have things in our past we would rather not consider. You faced your past bravely, and you fought that battle well. Now it is time to take up the banner once more and claim this castle for your son.”
“I do not know if I want it anymore,” Catherine said. She looked at the cold stone floor, the cold stone walls. “They hate us here. I never thought I would say this, but perhaps it is just as well that I am – was – a Claverton. The Clavertons were good to their tenants. My father was an excellent manager and a kind landlord. He may not have been kind to me, but he was fair and generous to his servants and tenants. Perhaps I will find that I would rather my son were not the Earl St Clair at all. Perhaps I should have run away to – to wherever it was Avebury is from. Yorkshire.”
Lydia bowed her head. Catherine sighed. “My complaints are of no use; they will merely make us morose. I am glad that Thomas drew some water before he left with the coachman. If you will bring it through, I think I shall wash and have some bread before retiring. Tomorrow we must begin work on this place.” She shrugged gloomily. “We will do what we can. We cannot return to Wansdyke now.”
* * *
The custodians appeared the next morning. They were an elderly couple, farmers who lived further along the road, beyond the fields and woods of the St Clair estate. They were friendly, but Catherine could see that they were uncomfortable with both the idea of a St Clair heiress and her advanced state of pregnancy. When she tried to persuade them to work for her, they begged forgiveness. They were farmers, they said, fortunate enough to have their own land to till. They did not want to put their land or animals in the care of others. They were extremely sorry, but they could not fill posts in a St Clair establishment.
The old woman left a basket of fresh rolls and butter as a gift. Catherine pulled out a couple of rolls and handed one to Lydia.
“I suspect,” she said, “that the only reason they agreed to act as custodians was that they were afraid to refuse the person who asked them. My grandmother, perhaps. Certainly someone they hated and feared.”
“Now, now, my lady. You have no reason to think so.”
“I have a very good instinct for half-truths,” Catherine said dryly. “A consequence of my upbringing, I suspect.” She ripped her own roll in half. “Now we are in a bind. We need help. Henry Coachman can manage quite well with the horses, and it seems there are men who are willing to work on repairing the castle – although outdoor work will have to wait until better weather. That Thomas is Welsh – and that we are not concerned about cost – has certainly helped us get those. I will write to Beaseley to arrange the funds. ”
She discovered she wasn’t hungry and, not eager to waste food, she tucked the remainder of her roll back into the basket. She brushed the crumbs from her hands. The remaining problem, of course, was one she had left unsaid. As Mrs Owen had foretold, there appeared to be no women prepared to work in the castle. And, as Catherine’s confinement approached, they would need the help. She would also need a midwife. She had not plucked up the courage to send for the village midwife – yet. She was afraid of being rejected with yet another pleasant excuse and then having to confront the urgent reality that stemmed from her folly.
If there no woman in the village would come to help her, what would she do?
Should she return to Wansdyke, and to certain disgrace? Could she even survive another journey?
* * *
Catherine massaged her temples with her fingertips. She had no time to sit and worry: Henry Coachman was on his way back from the village with a cartload of lumber, the blacksmith’s son and a journeyman carpenter who was to hang doors and look at the windows. She had never in her life had to carry out menial tasks, but now it was imperative that someone make sure there was water and food, and that the few rooms they occupied were reasonably clean. It was next to impossible for her to sweep or do the washing and, in any case, Lydia would not allow it. Instead, she sent into Abergavenny for cloth and managed to fashion several plain heavy curtains to hang over draughty windows and doors.
They gingerly spread into a few more rooms, giving Henry Coachman and Thomas a private space in which to live and sleep. Snow fell, and January slithered into February. The villagers were undaunted by the weather – they appeared, ready to work, no matter how slippery the road. They were polite, and seemed happy to have the work. Many of them were farmers in the good months of the year with little chance of employment in the winter months, so the opening up of Castle St Clair was good news for them, even if they did not care to be friendly.
And still, no women came. Once in a while, a workman would offer a gift of food that, Catherine suspected, had been sent by hi
s wife. She accepted these with as much dignity as she could muster, but it was not easy. The silence of the women of the village, the lack of talk about the imminent birth of the next Earl St Clair, was deafening.
Catherine wrote a note to Beaseley outlining her financial needs and asking him to ensure all was well at Wansdyke. She wrote a few genteel lies about the state of Castle St Clair, then considered asking about Jocelyn – but decided against it. She believed he was at sea. She was sure he would have gone back the moment the hearings were over. Especially as Sir Lyle had promised to help – and she assumed he could act where Beaseley could not.
She did tell Beaseley she needed servants. Anyone would do. The villagers were – she hesitated. What to tell him? If he knew her true predicament, he would certainly insist that she return immediately to Wansdyke. And she did not feel capable of admitting that she had no midwife, no doctor to help her child into the world.
In the end, she asked only that he locate a nurse for the child, and that he do so quickly, as she wished to prepare the nursery.
The nursery, she thought grimly as she handed the letter over to Thomas to take into the village. What nursery? None of the upper rooms were usable.
Lying, an activity in which she had never before hesitated to engage, felt more and more dreadful. It seemed that one had no need to lie – unless one was trying to keep loved ones from finding out truths they would rather not know.
Her entire household lived in a few downstairs rooms, and it was stifling. She would take a walk, she thought. She had not tried to walk far outside in the snow. It was time she took a look at the grounds of Castle St Clair.
Lydia was taking delivery of supplies and supervising their storage in the cellar. Catherine pulled on her wrap and limped toward the hall. She could not pull the heavy door open. Disheartened, she made her way clumsily across the stone floor to a side door. It had been left ajar when Lydia had gone out to inspect the delivery. Catherine slipped through and out into the bright February afternoon.
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